


Happy New Year

by krikkiter68



Category: Fright Night (2011), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ABBA music, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Romance, Slash, Smut, Swearing, do not copy to another site, do not host work on unofficial apps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krikkiter68/pseuds/krikkiter68
Summary: A vampire hunter and a demon walk into a bar.No profit has been made from this fiction.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

It was hours after Crowley had lost his best friend, and his nostrils were still full of oily black smoke. Very soon afterwards, he’d decided to completely drown himself in alcohol. Which explained what he was doing in a small, dark bar in central Soho. Occasionally he’d distract himself by gripping his shot glass of whiskey until it burst into blue, sporadic flames.

“’Scuse me, mate? This seat taken?”

Crowley looked up over the rim of his dark glasses. A tall, dark-haired man, leather trousers, torn black T-shirt. Smeared kohl around his dark, red-rimmed eyes. Crowley scrutinised him for a second, decided he was a rock star in the middle of a disastrous cocaine binge, and returned his gaze into the depths of his drink.

“Take it.”

“Cheers, mate,” the other man said, unsteadily seating himself on the stool. “Nice shades, by the way.”

“I like to think so,” Crowley replied, tonelessly.

“Must be fucking hard for you to see where you’re goin’, though? Pardon my French.”

“If you must know,” Crowley said, tears pricking his eyelids, “I’m in mourning. I lost my... a friend, earlier today.”

The man reeled back in his seat, his mouth falling open.

“Oh. Oh, fuck. Sorry, mate. I’ve got a mouth that won’t stop.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, with a touch of acidity, “I noticed.”

“Look, mate, if you rather I fucked off – “

“No. Actually, no. I could do with some company right now if I’m honest. What’s your name?”

“Peter. Peter Vincent. Nice ta meet ya,” Peter said, extending a long hand. Crowley noted the inevitable black nail varnish.

“Crowley,” he said, shaking Peter’s hand.

“Wow. Powerful handshake. Oh, cool! What, like Aleister Crowley?”

“No,” Crowley intoned. “Just Crowley.”

“Ah, right. Look, I’m going to the bar, mate, whatya havin’? Another one of those Flaming Sambucas? I could murder a Midori, personally.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a LOT of crying in this chapter. It gets more cheerful in subsequent chapters, I promise!
> 
> The drinker at the end of the chapter is, in my mind, the same GO character played by the brilliant Dan Starkey.

“You fell how far?” Peter said, ten Midoris later. “Fuck me. What the hell are you on?”

“Told you already. I’m a demon, Used t’be an angel ‘til I got kicked out of Heaven.”

Peter shrugged.

“If you say so, dear. Here, try some of this,” he said, proffering his drink. Crowley accepted it cautiously, then took a sip.

“Mmm, it’s a bit…insssipid. D’you have anything a bit more apple-y?”

“Don’t think so,” Peter said, gazing at the bottles of colour-drenched spirits behind the bar. He frowned.

“We need some fuckin’ music in here. I’ll put something on the jukebox. Hang on a tick.”

He stood then sashayed over to the jukebox, fumbling in his leather-trousered pocket for change. The cheerful harmonies of “Dancing Queen” rang out, earning a cheer from several of their fellow drinkers.

“You an ABBA fan?” Peter asked. “It doesn’t quite tally with my image as a well-‘ard vampire hunter, but I love ‘em.”

“Passed me by a bit,” Crowley said, staring at the blue flames in his whisky.

“Right, guessing you’re more into, ooh, I dunno, The Jesus and Mary Chain? The Velvet Underground?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, smiling for the first time that evening. “Love The Velvets.”

“Thought so. The shades are a dead giveaway,”

Crowley looked thoughtful.

“This friend of mine. He once referred to them as bebop.”

Peter practically choked on his Midori.

“Are you fucking serious?!” he spluttered.

“Yep,” Crowley replied, popping the P.

Peter laughed so hard he toppled off his stool.

“Oh,” Peter said later. “'Happy New Year.' Bit of a sad one, this. Reminds me of Ginger.”

“Ginger?” Crowley said, slurring slightly.

“My girlfriend…ex-girlfriend…well, she died. She’s gone, Crowley,” Peter said, his huge, dark eyes beginning to well up. Crowley placed a long hand on Peter’s skinny left forearm.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too. A…a vampire killed her.”

Peter glanced sideways at Crowley, almost fearfully, but the demon just nodded grimly.

“Doesn’t surprise me. The bastard. I hate vampires.”

Peter shook his head, miserably.

“It was all my fault. I got careless. I let the fucker in by mistake.”

He took another gulp of Midori.

“I fell further than you ever could, Crowley.”

Wordlessly, Crowley craned forward and drew Peter into a deep hug. With the renowned vampire-hunter sobbing on his shoulder, he found himself distracted by the mystery of ABBA. He felt sure Aziraphale would have liked them. A trace memory formed in his clouded brain. Four-piece band. Human, definitely. Two females, two males. A bit sparkly. There was an air of kindly intelligence surrounding them. He could picture the female singers, standing sometimes back to back, sometimes face to face. Auburn hair mingling with golden hair…

And then Crowley was crying too, holding on to Peter as if he feared falling again.

“In another ten years’ time,” Agnetha sang from the jukebox,

“Who can say what we’ll find,  
What lies waiting down the line,  
At the end of – “

“Twenty-niiiiiinnnneee…” Peter wailed, as the two of them sobbed.

Another drinker turned and gazed at them.

“I’ll drink to that,” he said mournfully, raising his pint glass in a toast. “It’s been a shit decade, hasn’t it?”


End file.
